


Incept Date

by sofia_gigante



Series: Blade Runner and Point Man [9]
Category: Blade Runner (1982), Blade Runner (Movies), Inception (2010)
Genre: AU, Angst, BAMF Arthur, Blade Runner ! Eames, Blade Runner AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love, Loyalty, M/M, Past Relationship(s), this is gonna hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 12:37:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10360662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofia_gigante/pseuds/sofia_gigante
Summary: “Arthur, love. I…I know what I am.”The truth hurts, but at least Eames now has the answers to questions he didn't even know he had to ask.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my betas Sibilant and Castillon for their amazing work!
> 
> At this point in the story, I highly recommend new readers start at the [beginning of the series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/516802) to know what's going on here.

They emerged from the safe house bathroom fifteen minutes later, damp and shaken. Eames was wrapped in the bloody, semen-marked bathrobe, and Arthur’s pajama bottoms were soaked from holding Eames’ naked body. They were a mess.

On the Vid Phōn screen, Ariadne looked about as well off as they were. She swiped the heel of her hand across her nose, her eyes red-rimmed and furious.

“You have exactly five seconds before I call those blade runners to your location myself,” she said.

“He’s not going to hurt me,” Arthur said, his voice raspy. “He didn’t even know until we told him.”

“And you believe him?”  

“Yeah. I do.” Arthur helped Eames onto the edge of the bed, then took up his seat in front of the phone’s screen.

“Sure it’s not just those hickeys on your neck talking?”

“He’s had my back from the moment I met him,” Arthur snapped. “I’d be nothing but a wet smear in a Proculus interrogation room if it hadn’t been for him! He’s had more than enough chances to hurt me or take the PASIV for himself. I don’t see how…how knowing what he is changes anything. I fucking trust him with my life.”

Arthur’s words struck deep into Eames’ battered heart, and he let Arthur’s confidence strengthen him, help him fit the scattered pieces of himself back together.

“Besides, we still need him to escort me to Fischer-Morrow this afternoon,” Arthur continued.

“We’ll find another way!” she said.

“There is no other way! Not unless you’ve thought of a new idea in the past thirty minutes.”

Eames simply watched them argue about him, too tired to chime in. He looked down at his trembling hands. They were no longer trying to curl in on themselves, though the skin was still pale, his nails so pink they were practically red. That was new.

“Eames? Eames!” Arthur shook Eames’ shoulder gently. “You still with us?”

“Hmmm?” Eames looked up at Arthur, his mind fuzzy.

“I wanted to know if you still felt up to this. Taking me to Fischer-Morrow.”

It was a valid question, Eames supposed. He didn’t even know if he could complete a full sentence right now.

Arthur leaned closer to Eames, and put his hands over Eames’. “Look. I can’t even pretend to know what’s going through your mind right now. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you have what you need. So is Ariadne. Right now, though, I need an answer. Yes, or no?”

There was a small, childish part of Eames that was tempted to say “no.” To see if it would keep Arthur with him just a little bit longer. He forced himself to meet Arthur’s gaze, and for a second, he was sure Arthur wanted him to say the same.

But that wasn’t Eames. If nothing else in his whole wretched joke of a life, he knew he had to get this last job done.

“I promised I’d go with you as far I could, didn’t I?” Eames whispered. “I’ll crawl to the launchpad if I have to.”

Arthur smiled, a small, heartbreaking smile, and if Ariadne hadn’t been watching Eames might have given in to the temptation to cry again. He held himself in check, though. He had to be strong. For Arthur. Just for a little while longer.

“Can we even trust Robert’s word, Eames?” Ariadne finally addressed him. “He knows what you are. Yet he still agreed to the bargain. Could it be a trap?”

Eames finally looked at the screen to face Ariadne. He hated to admit it, but she might be right. Robert had known exactly who Eames was when he called. He’d given in easily, perhaps to just get Eames off the phone—or perhaps because he had something else planned.

“Maybe we can’t,” Eames said slowly, “but the memories of Robert are there in my mind. He…he treated me like he knew me, had that shared history with me. There were things I said that only he’d know. He wasn’t faking that. Still, doesn’t mean he’s not planning something.”

There was no way to be sure. So, best course of action at this point was to try to gather as much intel as possible. He forced himself to look at the replicant profile—his replicant profile—for longer, truly taking in the information.

“Nexus 6 mod alpha,” he read out loud. “Mod alpha. I’ve…I’ve never seen that before.”

“What’s it mean?” Arthur asked.

“I don’t know.” He realized something. “Ariadne, do me a favor. Show me another profile. See if there’s another blade runner.”

She began typing away. A few seconds later, the monitor switched, and a new face filled the profile’s screen. He was about middle-aged, Caucasian, with brown hair cropped close to his head and a slightly crooked nose.

Replicant (M) Des: DECKARD  
NEXUS 6 N6MBA743900   
Incept Date: 24 OCT., 2017   
Func: Blade Runner (LAPD Division)   
Phys: LEV. B Ment: LEV. B

Eames’ stomach lurched. Fuck. He’d hoped he’d be wrong. That it had been a mistake. Two data points made a line, though, and—

“There’s over fifty different blade runners in here,” Ariadne sounded confused. “Across a dozen different cities. Why...”

And more made a pattern.

“An elegant solution to a complicated problem,” Eames said hollowly. “Facing a combat-ready Nexus 6 as a human is a death warrant. No cop is going to sign up for that. So, build one.” Eames looked down at his hands again. “It’s really not fair, though. No super-strength, super-speed. Trying to keep costs down, I suppose, or convince civilians that we’re just ordinary humans… ” His throat closed up again. It was too much, too surreal, trying to think of the logic behind his own creation.

“Eames, are—are you sure that this isn’t some mistake?” Arthur asked quietly.

“I wish to God it was,” Eames said. He studied the numbers, the designation. Something niggled the back of his mind. “Ariadne, is there any way for you to show me both Deckard’s and mi—mine, together?”

Ariadne clacked for a few seconds, and the screen in front of them split into two images. Man, she was good. Side by side, Eames could pick the differences apart quickly.

“Deckard’s function is Blade Runner, while I’m function rep-detect only,” he muttered, thinking out loud. “His incept date was two years after mine, but…wait. I’m 2016. That was Polk Street.”

“Where you were wounded?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah. That makes no sense at all. How could my incept date be…” He trailed off as chill went up his spine. “Ariadne, look me up again. Search on the serial number, Nexus 6 N6MBA528491, minus the Mod Alpha.”

She typed for a while. “Nothing.”

“How about Nexus 6 N6MBA528490?”

“You really think it’s as simple as one digit?”

“Try it.”

More clacking. “Nothing,” she sighed.

“Where are you looking this up?”

“I’m in the level 3 active files of the AI registry.”

“Wow.” Why the Artificial Intelligence registry had levels had always perplexed him. The average cop was only allowed to level 5. Blade runners could access up to level 4, which Eames had found ridiculous. He figured blade runners needed to know the entire registry to do their jobs right, but every time he asked the Chief about it he was told it was a matter of military security. He knew better, though—Tyrell, Cyberdine, and the other big corporations were trying to keep their “experimental” models private. Everything went into the registry—every success, every failure, every retirement…

Retirement.

“Look in the inactive files,” Eames said.

As Ariadne typed, Arthur leaned closer to Eames and whispered, “What are you thinking?”

“Something I saw in that dream we had. I saw Robert. He…he called me a thing. There was a doctor with me. He said…said something about an ‘original model.’”

“Original model,” Arthur said. “You think you’re a—”

“Found it.” Ariadne sounded shaken. “You were right.”

The screen shifted back into a single image, showing Eames’ picture again. However, he looked slightly different—younger, perhaps—and the information below was certainly different:

Replicant (M) Des: EAMES  
NEXUS 6 N6MBA528491   
Incept Date: 12 MAR., 2014   
Func: Blade Runner (SFPD Division)   
Phys: LEV. B Ment: LEV. A   
Retirement Date: 6 JAN., 2016 (KIA)

KIA. Killed in action.

Eames felt like he was floating outside of his own body.  

“I wasn’t wounded. I…”

Arthur reached for Eames, but Eames barely felt the touch of his hand on his arm.

“I didn’t know they could make…copies,” Ariadne said, her tone surprisingly gentle.

“They can’t,” Eames said flatly. “It’s never been done. Dead is dead, whether human or…Jesus.” He covered his mouth with his shaking hands.

“I think we’ve figured out enough,” Arthur said.

“Wait. Ariadne, in that same database, look up Dominic Cobb. SFPD Blade Runner.”

She typed quickly. A few seconds later, the monitor switched, and Dom’s face filled the profile’s screen.

Replicant (M) Des: COBB  
NEXUS 6 N6MKJ893711   
Incept Date: 7 AUG., 2014   
Func: Blade Runner (SFPD Division)   
Phys: LEV. B Ment: LEV. B   
Retirement Date: 3 JAN., 2016 (KIA)

Eames’ stomach knot tightened, seeing Dom’s face on that screen. God, maybe it was good thing Dom hadn’t lived long enough to find out the truth about his existence.

“I’m checking the active registry to see if there’s a duplicate of him, too,” Ariadne said as she typed. She shook her head after a second. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Guess I’m bloody special.” Bitterness leaked into Eames’ voice. “Why me, and not Dom, too?”

“Fischer,” Arthur said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eames closed his eyes, practically watching the pieces fall into place. Who else had the money, the influence, and the desire to…to _make_ him again?

“When you told me you two had a hell of a history…” Arthur’s words trailed off.

A single thought surfaced through the sea of confusion. “If he went to all that trouble, then why did he leave me on earth?”

“I’m checking the project notes on your file,” Ariadne chimed in, “maybe there’s something there.” She worked for a few seconds. “Interesting.”

“What’s that?” Arthur asked.

“Tyrell Corp didn’t spearhead this project. Fischer-Morrow did. Which is odd, because they don’t do genetics or replicants, they do energy. At least, not publicly.”

“So, Robert didn’t pay Tyrell…”

“Oh, yes he did,” Ariadne gave a low whistle. “He paid a fortune for the license to your design.”

“God, can we…can we stop talking about Eames like he’s a thing?” Arthur blurted out. “I still think this could be a mistake, or plant by Proculus to try to take you out for helping me out. Can’t we…can’t we do a test to make sure?”

“Not without a Voight-Kampff,” Eames said quietly, “or some high-grade lab equipment to run samples of my cells, look for the maker’s mark.”

“Then let’s go back to your place and get your VK,” Arthur said, desperation tinging his tone. “I know they’re probably watching the place, but we can cause a distraction, set off a fire alarm, and, and I can sneak in—”

“Arthur, love. I…I know what I am.”

He couldn’t look at Arthur. Couldn’t bear his heartbreak, his anger, his fear. Instead, he looked at Ariadne, who was busy studying her monitors instead of looking at them. Whether she was too engrossed in her findings or was trying to give them the illusion of privacy, he couldn’t tell, but he appreciated it all the same.

“Here,” she finally said, “I have the notes made by the chief geneticist in charge of your case, a Dr. Mandip Yusuf. They were trying to do the first replicant-to-replicant memory transfer.” The screen in front of Eames flickered, then became a copy of a lab report with the Fischer-Morrow logo on the letterhead. As Eames scanned the document, Ariadne continued her commentary.

“There were complications, it seems. The original version’s brain was damaged—”

“Two by four to the back of head by a Nexus 6 will do that,” Eames said flatly.

“And they couldn’t get the entire memory to port over. The normal work-around would’ve been to implant false memories to pad the gaps, but—”

_“I want fucking results, or so help me God I will ship your parents to the Argentine Moons to spend the rest of their lives working in the mines!”_ Robert’s furious voice from Eames’ dream-share vision rang in his memory.

“It wasn’t good enough. Robert wanted my memory completely intact.” _He wanted me back._

“Which, they eventually did, but not without some side-effects. Muscle tremors, headaches, fatigue, adverse reactions to stressful stimuli—”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Eames muttered. The cause of his “nerve condition.” No wonder there was no treatment, no drug that ever truly helped. He was just badly made. Damaged from creation.

“Oh,” Ariadne said softly. “Oh wow.”

“What did you find?” Eames asked.

“Give me a few minutes. I’m going to try to break through to level 2.”

Eames’ stomach lurched. “Ariadne, level 2 is mostly military intelligence. They’ll be able to trace you, even if you can make it through the firewalls.”

She didn’t reply, she only kept working. Eames spent the time reading through the lab notes, trying to decipher the jargon. He couldn’t get much out of it. Eventually he gave up. The silence between him and Arthur felt unbearable, and his fingers began to twitch on his lap.

His cigarettes and lighter materialized by his hand. He looked up in shock, and Arthur shrugged, handing over the ashtray as well. Guess a guy earned the right to smoke when he discovered he was a replicant. The little gesture, more than anything that Arthur had said, put Eames at ease, and he gave Arthur a small, grateful smile.

He was almost done with his cigarette when Ariadne spoke again. “You ready for this?”

“About as ready as I’ll ever be,” Eames said quietly. Arthur’s hand found his, and Eames held it tightly.

Ariadne punched a key, and the computer monitor in front of them filled with not just one, but a half-dozen replicant profiles bearing Eames’ face. Eames’ breath sucked in hard.

“These aren’t Nexus 6,” she said, her voice quavering slightly. “Look at the model number.”

“Axiom 1,” Arthur read out.

“I’ve never even heard of that replicant line before,” Eames whispered. Looking at six duplicates of his face was making him slightly lightheaded. God, maybe this all was still a strange dream. He tried to stay focused, think of what he knew for sure. “All of Tyrell’s replicants are Nexus series.”

“They’re not Tyrell. They’re Fischer-Morrow.”

“Oh.”  He forced himself to study one of the profiles more carefully.

Replicant (M) Des: FORGER  
AXIOM 1 A1XCF000017   
Incept Date: 4 JULY, 2018   
Func: MILITARY (ESPIONAGE)   
Phys: LEV. A Ment: LEV. A

“Fischer’s made a small army out of you,” Arthur’s voice was tight, angry. “All military models.”

“All except the first one,” Ariadne said. “That one’s different. It’s for—”

“Recreation,” Eames said flatly. He knew what that meant—a fucking love doll. So. Robert had kept one of him after all.

“Incept date is in late 2016. Only a few months after yours,” Arthur said. “God, did he make him while he was still on Earth? These others were made after he was already on Mars.”

Eames’ lungs flattened, his body going cold. That ticket to Mars had never been meant for him. It’d been meant for Robert’s new toy. His undamaged, physical A, mental A Axiom 1 masterpiece. Eames had been nothing but a stepping stone. A broken doll, tossed aside on the garbage pile of Earth. Robert hadn’t even had the decency to retire him properly.

“Shit!” Ariadne hissed. The screen wavered, distorting the small army of Eameses. On the Vid Phon screen, her face was bathed in blinking red light. “They’ve found me in the database!”

“Back out of there!” Arthur said. “Before they trace you!”

“Here! I’m sending what I can.” Her fingers clacked madly over the keys. The computer screen in front of them flashed with the rapidly downloading images, a flipbook of document scans, diagrams, and photographs.

“Ari…” Arthur’s voice rose in urgent pitch.

“Shutting down all channels! Call you back from a new secure line soon!” Ariadne said. She looked at Eames and hesitated. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Eames. ”

The Vid Phon screen went black, her face replaced by blocky text reading “connection interrupted.”

“You think they caught her?” Eames asked.

“I hope not,” Arthur sighed. “I don’t think so. She’s been breaking into databases since she was twelve. If anyone can shake a government trace, it’s her.”

They fell silent. Eames was suddenly afraid to look at Arthur, half convinced that this new information had changed Arthur’s mind about Eames. It was one thing to find out someone was a replicant, but to know he was a botched experiment…

Arthur’s hand slipped over his, his fingers loosening the fist that Eames had unconsciously made.

“I’m sorry, too,” Arthur whispered.

“I’m not,” Eames spoke from somewhere outside himself, barely registering his lips moving. “At least I know the truth about me and Fischer.”

Huh. Eames had called him Fischer. Not Robert. Guess he was officially over him.

“Well, shall we take a look?” Arthur punched a key on the keyboard, sorting through the downloaded documents.

Eames’ stomach knotted nervously. Part of him wanted to pore over his origin report, uncover every secret that went into his making. The other part of him wanted to delete everything. There was almost no point. It changed nothing.

“I understand if you don’t want to right now,” Arthur said, plucking the thoughts out of Eames’ head. “I can put these on a flash drive, so you can look at them later, when you’re...you’re ready.”

_When I’m alone._

“No, let’s look at them now,” Eames said. He squeezed Arthur’s hand. “Another set of eyes wouldn’t hurt.”

Arthur squeezed back before letting go. He stood up. “You start reading. I’m cracking one of those bottles in the safe.”

Gratitude swelled in Eames’ chest. “You’re a fucking mind-reader.”

Arthur pressed a kiss to the top of Eames’ head and headed over the the safe. It wasn’t until Eames was scanning the first document that he saw the utter brilliance of Arthur’s little move--not only was he getting them drinks, but he was allowing Eames a few moments of privacy.

Eames had scanned through the first few documents by the time Arthur returned with two tumblers of amber liquid. Eames brought it up to his lips, then pulled back as the aroma reached his nostrils. “This is real bourbon, isn’t it?”

“Made with the last American-grown corn before the war,” Arthur said. He raised his glass to Eames. “Cheers.”

Eames snorted. “Don’t really know if the occasion warrants a ‘cheers,’ mate.”

“All right then. How’s this?” Arthur licked his bottom lip. “Here's to the soldier who fights and loves, may he never lack for either.”

Eames’ throat felt suddenly tight. “I wasn’t a soldier, but--”

“Yeah, you were,” Arthur said quietly. “Just a different battlefield you were fighting on.”

“’cept now I know I’m one of the enemy,” Eames whispered.

Arthur cupped Eames’ cheek with his hand, and pulled his face up to meet his gaze. “No. You were a weapon. Cannon fodder. Now, you’re free.”

“Like you.” It slipped out before Eames could stop it. He looked down at Arthur’s forearm, the long list of battles forever etched on his skin, on his soul.

Arthur nodded. He held his glass up a bit higher. “To freedom in the truth.”

“No matter how hard to face.” Eames clinked his glass against Arthur’s. He held Arthur’s gaze until he took his sip, and then all he knew was the rich, fiery burn of bourbon coating his tongue.

“Wow,” Arthur said, looking at his glass in amazement. “I had no idea it’d be this good.”

“Me neither,” Eames said. He realized he wasn’t talking about the bourbon.

Arthur looked down at his glass, then back up at Eames with a small smile. “You know, when I’d imagined asking you out for a drink, it sure as hell wasn’t like this.”

Eames couldn’t help it. He chuckled. It was like a bubble rising from the center of his chest, cutting through the dense, black fog that had been filling his ribcage. It was just the spark of normalcy he needed to center himself, to face the enormity of what they were about to dig into.

“All right. Let’s see what we can find.” Eames took another sip before turning back to the screen.

They spent hours looking through the documents. It was slow going, most of them written in a medical jargon that Eames and Arthur didn’t understand. Though Eames was well-versed in the basics of replicant manufacturing, this was master-level stuff. It was further complicated by the fact that Fischer-Morrow had been building a completely new type of replicant, different from the Nexus line that Eames had studied…and was a part of.

“Oh my God,” Arthur said, pointing into the middle of a dense paragraph. “I don’t fucking believe it!”

“What?” Eames’ heart accelerated.

“Look what they fucking used for your memory transfer. A PASIV machine.”

Eames’ eyes widened, shock rippling through his body in cold shivers. “Wait, they used a PASIV?”

“They don’t use Somnacin,” Arthur continued, “but a different compound, Mnemonicin. It’s what’s able to implant memories from humans to replicants in Nexus 6 models. Fischer-Morrow had to derive something similar, Mnemosyne, to allow the replicant-to-replicant memory-transfer.”

Eames’ head swam. His eyes darted at the silver case on the bed, still open, though powered down. That...that explained his dreams, his knowledge of the machine. He’d not only seen it before, he’d had it used on him.

“I wonder if these records mention how Fischer-Morrow got their hands on one,” Arthur murmured, clicking through to the next page. “Only military and Tyrell Corp are authorized to have them.”

“Probably a lot the same way you got yours,” Eames said. “Off the record.”

“No. They wouldn’t be in the replicant database if they were off the record. He’s got connections in the military. Why else would Tyrell sell your licence? They knew what he’d do with it.” Arthur sighed. “Fischer suddenly became a lot scarier.”

Eames rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. Fascinating though it was, none of this was really useful information.

“You know what, though,” Arthur said, a tinge of hope in his voice, “maybe…maybe you actually can leave Earth. Maybe the memories of your doctor visits are fakes Fischer had implanted to keep you from trying to follow him.”

“I don’t know,” Eames said, hesitant. “I honestly can’t tell what’s a real memory or an implant. It’s kind of the point.”

“There’s gotta be something in here,”  Arthur clicked faster through the documents until he came to one with Eames’ picture on it. “Nexus 6 Mod Alpha, this one is you.”

Eames read along. There didn’t seem to be much beyond the usual profile information. His gaze landed on his incept date--12 MAR., 2016.

His heartbeat stopped.

“What day is today?” He asked quietly.

Arthur checked the calendar on his watch. “March 22, 2020. Why?”

Eames felt like he was falling backwards. Four years.

“Eames? Eames what is it?” Arthur’s voice went up in alarm.

“Four years,” Eames whispered. “I’m four years and ten days old.”

“Happy belated birthday,” Arthur chuckled weakly.

This time, his humor didn’t warm Eames. It only chilled him further.

“Four years is the built-in lifespan for all Nexus 6 replicants.”

Eames watched the blood drain from Arthur’s face, his jaw going slack. He shook his head in disbelief.

“Not...not you, right? You’re a Mod Alpha. Fischer wouldn’t…”

“He knew,” Eames said, looking down at his shaking hands. “When we spoke. He kept asking if my shakes had gotten worse.”

“Maybe...it was polite conversation? Scientific curiosity?” Arthur raked a hand over his mouth.

“Arthur, love.” His vision was blurring again. “We can comb through these documents if you want, but I promise you, the lifespan is built into the fabric of the Nexus 6 design.”

“Don’t. Don’t tell me—”

“Don’t tell you the truth?”

“Don’t tell me there’s no way,” Arthur whispered.

“I can’t fight what I am,” Eames said. “And what I am means I only get four years.”

Arthur closed his eyes tight. “Eames…”

“I can feel it, Arthur. You saw it today, with the Somnacin. I almost didn’t wake up from that at all. I always knew my body was dying, I just…I just didn’t realize how quickly.”

“No. You’re—you’re already ten days past that deadline—”

“Ten days. About the time I met you, yeah?”

Arthur swallowed hard. “You’re telling me that I kept you alive?”

Eames shrugged, forcing a small smile. “You’re definitely the most fascinating person I’ve ever met. Figuring out who you were gave me a sense of purpose again. Then, being with you did. I’ve felt more alive in these few days with you than I have in all of my life.” Eames took a deep breath. “But that can only work for so long, love.”

Arthur was quiet for a long, long time. Eames didn’t try to fill the silence with more explanations, he  simply sat, absorbing Arthur’s presence.

“All right then. That answers my question.” Arthur’s tone was firm.

“What’s that?” Eames’ brow furrowed.

“You’re coming with me.”

Eames shook his head. “There’s no way.”

“Yes there is. We don’t know for sure if you really can’t travel, or if it’s a lie to keep you here,” Arthur said. “But I am getting you on that spacecraft if I have to shoot every last Fischer-Morrow goon to do it.” Arthur leaned forward and reached his free hand around to cup the back of Eames’ head. His eyes crackled with determined light. “There’s no way in hell I’m leaving you here to die alone, Eames. I swear it.”

Warmth flooded Eames, and he soaked in Arthur’s words, letting them nourish him, guide him. Maybe...maybe Arthur was right. Maybe Robert’s warning was a lie. Why else would he insist that Eames not even get on the shuttle? Even if it was true, and Eames’ body couldn’t handle the launch, he’d rather a quick death at Arthur’s side than a slow, uncertain decline alone.

He nodded, and gave Arthur a small, tremulous smile. “Why the fuck not? Sure. I’ll get on that shuttle with you. What’s the worst that can happen at this point?”

Despite everything he’d just learned, everything he knew, for the first time in his life Eames had real hope.

He wouldn’t die alone on Earth. His end would come among the stars, off this doomed rock, with the one person he’d ever genuinely loved. If that wasn’t a good way to die, he didn’t know what was.

**Author's Note:**

> Only two more installments to go! We're in the home stretch, folks!


End file.
